


The Time Traveler's Bard

by SweetestHoney



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, In a manner of speaking, Jaskier Cries A Lot, M/M, Not really an AU, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, Sort Of, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, but really c'mon are you gonna tell me he doesn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:55:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26484520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetestHoney/pseuds/SweetestHoney
Summary: Jaskier has known Geralt all his life, he considers the gruff and taciturn man his guardian angel since Geralt always seems to pop up whenever he's feeling upset or scared. Geralt has warned him that it's just unstable magic that has pulled them together, but every time he appears before Jaskier, when the bard is hurting or scared or sad, he can't help but try to make it better.Canon compliant! Sort of, anyway, in that everything in canon happens throughout the course of the story. Very loosely based on The Time Traveler's Wife, which I will admit to having seen many *many* years ago now, so take that with a grain of salt.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 13
Kudos: 163





	The Time Traveler's Bard

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I get hit with a story idea and I'm grabbed by it and I can't stop writing it, and I end up making long and usually unfinished chaptered fics lol. And then other times, while I'm actually writing something fairly regularly and enjoying creating it, another idea pops into my head as I'm maybe ten seconds from falling asleep and I write 15,000 words in two days despite myself. This is the latter. I will admit to being ridiculously proud of the idea, since I'd been bouncing around the idea of time travel and the fact that it's so fucking hard to do in this fandom since nobody fucking ages, but I managed to figure out a really fun plot device that I enjoyed writing. I hope you like it as well! :)

The first time it happened, Julian was four years old. He'd been running across the uneven cobblestones in one of the corridors of his family home (something his nannies had scolded him for more times than he could count) when he tripped and landed heavily on one knee, scraping it so badly that he started to bleed through the leg of his trousers. 

Tears welled up and Julian balled his hands into fists, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to keep from bursting into tears. He knew what his father would have to say if he was found crying.  _ Little boys should be seen and not heard, and crying is beneath you, Julian _ . 

So he took a deep breath, trying to keep himself steady. When he heard someone clear their throat next to him, he jumped up, eyes flying open as he looked for the source of the noise. 

Where he'd been alone only seconds before, now there stood a man next to him. The man was huge, larger than anyone Julian had ever seen, and he tilted his head back to look up and up and up until he finally found the man's face. 

"W-Who are you?" Julian's throat was thick with unshed tears, but he managed to get the words out. 

The man frowned at him. "I'm… Geralt. I'm a Witcher." 

Julian nodded like this made sense, even though it didn't. "I'm Julian." 

The man nodded back down at him before dropping into a crouch, so that Julian could look him in the eyes without having to look all the way up. 

Before he said anything more, the man stopped, his face twisting. The men breathed in deeply though his nose, frowning, and Julian took the time to study him. 

He had long white hair that swept loosely across his shoulders, and when he shifted, the motion sent it shimmering against the afternoon sun. His clothes were black but comfortable, and his sleeves were rolled up past his elbows. On his right arm there were three large red scratches, and Julian could see that they were fresh – the scratches weren't deep, but they were still bleeding. 

The man shook himself before looking Julian over again, and when he noticed Julian's skinned knee, he frowned again. "You're hurt." 

Julian gave him a shrug, kicking his foot against the cobblestone. His knee still hurt, but the shock of finding himself not alone had drawn his focus from it. When he didn't answer with words, the man held out a hand in question. 

"May I see it? I'd like to make sure it isn't going to get infected." 

Julian sighed but nodded, agreeing to let the man look at his knee. 

Geralt reached for him and with careful hands he rolled up Julian's pants until he could get a good look at the boy's knee. When he saw the scraped and bloodied flesh, he didn't wince, instead just probed it with careful fingers. 

Without missing a beat, Geralt tore a strip of fabric from the bottom of his shirt. He held it up for Julian to inspect before taking the boy's leg in his hands once more and bandaging the scrape. 

After another few moments of fussing with the fabric, Geralt seemed satisfied and he moved back. Julian inspected the handiwork before deciding it was good enough. 

"Thank you, Mr. Geralt, sir." 

His words seemed to shock the man, and Geralt looked at him with wide eyes before giving him a small smile. 

"No 'Mr' needed; you can just call me Geralt." 

Julian shrugged, accepting it. "Alright, well, thanks, Geralt." Geralt nodded at him. After another moment Julian remembered that he really wanted to be in the kitchen, where he'd been on his way to before he fell, and took off running once more. 

That night, when his nanny was helping him get ready for bed, she noticed his bandaged knee and asked about it. 

"I fell and scraped it, and a man bandaged it for me." Julian gave her a shrug, and she let the issue go.

The next time he met Geralt, Julian was eight. His parents despaired that he'd ever grow into a man befitting his title, and they took pleasure in scolding him about everything from slouching too much to dozing off in his lessons. 

The day was a lot like any other, which meant that Julian had been daydreaming during his history of the continent lesson. He got reprimanded. Unlike most other days, however, his tutor had got fed up with his inability to pay attention and went to his father, informing the viscount that his son was a lazy and impossible child. 

Julian got a stern lecture and his father wouldn’t listen to his protests that he wasn't  _ trying _ to be disrespectful, he just couldn't make himself focus, sometimes even when he wanted to. After the lecture, Julian was sent to bed without supper. 

When he reached his room he slammed the door in a fit of rage and threw himself on the bed facedown, hugging a pillow to his chest. Julian stayed like that for an unknown amount of time but when he heard the sound of someone awkwardly clearing their throat he jumped, rearing up into a sitting position. 

There was a man looking very uncomfortable as he stood in the space between Julian’s bed and the door, and Julian looked at him in confusion. 

"Who are you?" 

The man shifted his weight, looking around the room. "I'm Geralt." 

Julian frowned at him. "How'd - How'd you get here? Why are you in my room?" 

Geralt shook his head, sending the curtains of soft white hair framing his face into a flurry of motion. "I wasn't in your room until you got here, I believe that I'm–' He cut off, thinking. "I'm – bound to you, for a lack of a better word. If you're upset, I think I'll be drawn to you.” 

He seemed deeply uncomfortable with the revelation, and Julian just blinked at him, confused. 

"What? But you're – I'm just a kid, and you're – why are you bound to  _ me _ ?" Julian twisted his bedcovers in his hands, unsure, and Geralt gave him a heavy shrug. 

"I'm not sure. All I know is that this is the second time I've found you, and it's the second time you've been upset when I did." Geralt shrugged. “It’s probably just that I get pulled towards you when you’re experiencing the most emotion, and that tends to be when you’re upset.” 

Julian thought the idea over in his mind for a minute, and Geralt stood there, stiff, as he waited for Julian to think it though. 

Julian bit his lip, looking up at Geralt. "Well, if you're here when I'm sad or angry, then you're - you're like a guardian angel, then?" 

Geralt shook his head. "No,  _ not  _ like that. I'm just – I don't know why I keep coming back to you, if I'm being honest, but I'm sure this won't be the last time." 

Julian shrugged and patted the bed next to him. "Well, that still sounds like a guardian angel to me. Now come sit down." 

Looking like he wanted to be anywhere but there, Geralt did as he was told, sitting on the corner of the bed that Julian indicated and holding himself tightly there. Julian paid his discomfort no mind and crawled right into his lap, curling up across warm thighs and shoving his head against the man’s stomach. Once he was comfortable, he sighed and relaxed against the man, intent on sleep. 

Geralt’s hands came up to hold him steady, but he didn’t try to dislodge Julian from his lap, just kept him from falling off the bed. Julian could see Geralt’s arm from his vantage point, and he noted that there were three scratches there, still bleeding sluggishly. Geralt didn’t seem bothered by them, didn’t seem to care really, so Julian ignored them in favor of falling asleep. 

When he finally drifted off, the last thing he thought was that his guardian angel was pretty nice for letting him sleep in his lap. The next morning, Julian woke up in his own bed, warm and comfortable, and he forgot all about the episode in the rush of getting ready for his lessons and trying not to upset his parents by being late. 

The next few years of Julian’s life passed without anything notable happening. There was more than one instance when he managed to piss his family off in one way or another and was reprimanded or punished in turn, and those nights when he was tired, hurting, hungry, or cold were the nights Geralt appeared. 

Every time he showed up, Geralt would come to him without a word, letting Julian snuggle into his arms and leech his body heat, the small boy taking comfort in not being alone. Julian knew better than to expect him to be there in the morning, and he never gave a moment’s thought to sharing his strange visitor with anyone else. Geralt was  _ his _ , meant only for him, and Julian kept the secret of his appearances close to his chest. 

When Julian was fourteen, he tried to kiss a boy, one of the children of one of the servants who he played with sometimes. The boy didn’t react well, shoving him back and running for his parents, who had of course told Julian’s father immediately. 

It wasn’t the first time he’d been punished physically, but the belt was new and when his father was finally done with him there was a series of welts painted from his shoulder blades to his ass. 

It wasn’t surprising that Geralt appeared that night, Julian had gotten pretty good at knowing when to expect a visit from the taciturn man. When Geralt saw Julian, shirtless and draped across his bed on his front in an attempt to keep from jostling the painful red marks too badly, he growled low in his throat. 

“What happened? Who did this to you?” His voice was rough but as he settled down on the edge of Julian’s bed, his hands were exceedingly gentle as he checked the wounds, making sure that none of them needed tending. 

Julian gulped and tried to look at him, unsure whether Geralt would be upset with him too when he found out why he’d been punished. “It’s - It’s nothing, Geralt. Just my father, he was – I did something ‘unbecoming for someone with noble blood’.” Geralt gently pushed his head back down to the pillow when he tried to turn further, meet the other man’s eyes, and Julian went without argument. 

“Keep still; you’ll reopen them otherwise.” Geralt’s voice was gruff, and instead of focusing on his face, Julian reached for the arm that was within his field of view, pulling it closer to himself. The wounds that crossed over his forearm, the three jagged lines that bled sluggishly when Julian was younger were still there, although they’d closed somewhat. They were still fresh, he could tell, the red puffy scars looking only days old, and he ran his fingers over the marks reverently. Geralt had lots of scars, of course, but these were the only ones Julian had seen heal up himself. 

When Geralt’s other hand settled in his hair, stroking softly, Julian sighed, gripping Geralt’s hand more tightly. “My - My father, he was upset with me today, that’s why I was punished.” Geralt didn’t interrupt him, and for that Julian was grateful. “I - I kissed someone I shouldn’t have.” 

Whatever response he was expecting from Geralt, it wasn’t a bark of laughter and tightening of the hand in his hair. Julian pulled back from the other man, unsure why he was laughing, but Geralt was quick to calm himself, reaching for Julian once more. “Shit, I’m sorry Julian.” He sunk his hand into Julian’s hair again, tugging him back down onto the bed. “I wasn’t - I wasn’t laughing at you, exactly, just at – you reminded me of someone I know, when you said that, and I wasn’t expecting it.” 

His words were stilted, awkward, but Julian could hear the truth in them. Geralt hummed again, leaning back against the wall. “I’m sorry, I interrupted you. Why did your father get angry with you for kissing someone?” 

Julian sucked in a breath, unsure. Geralt had never gotten mad at him for something before, not like his father did, but, well. His father had been  _ so _ angry, and Julian didn’t want to make Geralt hate him. Geralt just kept running his hands through Julian’s hair, content to give him however much time he needed, and that was what finally convinced Julian that it was alright to tell him the truth. 

“I...it was a boy that I kissed, and that’s not...boys shouldn’t kiss other boys, it’s unnatural.” His father’s words still rung in his ears, and he shivered. 

Geralt’s hands stilled in their movements and Julian stilled as well, holding his breath as he waited for Geralt to respond. After a very long moment of silence, Geralt sighed heavily and resumed running his hands through Julian’s hair. 

“Is that all?” Despite the words, Geralt’s tone was tense, and Julian wasn’t sure what he meant. 

“It’s - It’s what he said, yes. Boys shouldn’t want other boys, and that if he hears of me kissing one again he’ll have me whipped instead of just using his belt.” 

Geralt sucked in a tight breath and his hands tugged unthinkingly at Julian’s hair. Julian hissed at the pain and Geralt let go immediately, murmuring an apology. After another few minutes, Geralt spoke, each word tight with restrained anger. 

“Your father is wrong, Julian. If I wasn’t worried about what would happen to you, I’d go find him and beat him within an inch of his life for making you think that he’s right.” Julian inhaled sharply, twisting so he could look Geralt in the eyes and ignoring the other man trying to stop him from aggravating his injuries. He pushed himself up and sought out Geralt’s gaze, holding it as he inspected the other man. 

“You–” Julian trailed off, lost for words, and Geralt reached out to cup his chin. 

“Yes, Julian, I promise that your father is wrong, and you’re not abnormal for liking boys as well as girls.” Geralt sighed and let go of him. “I don’t think I’m allowed to change much, while I’m here, but I can promise you that there’s nothing wrong with you.” 

Embarrassingly, Julian felt tears coming to his eyes unbidden, and he blinked quickly, trying to hide them. He’d long since learned not to cry when he was upset, but the gentleness of Geralt’s tone combined with the soft hands trying to keep him from hurting himself further had done him in. 

Geralt said nothing when Julian abruptly flopped back down onto his lap, breaking their eye contact and shoving his face into one of the pillows. He just settled his hands back into Julian’s hair, petting him and humming a tune Julian didn’t recognize. Julian was sure that Geralt could tell by his shaky breathing that he was crying, but he kept his face mashed into the pillow until he was done, and Geralt thankfully said nothing about it. 

Geralt held him until he fell into a fitful sleep that night, not speaking more about what had happened but staying to comfort him nonetheless. When Julian woke the next morning, the man was gone, and he spared himself another few minutes wishing he could keep Geralt before giving up the thought. 

When Julian was seventeen, he ran away from home. The first night of traveling, he had nothing but the clothes on his back and a small bag he’d packed that contained one of his favourite books of poetry, some rations he’d stolen from the kitchens, and as much money as he had (which wasn’t much). While Julian’s family was rich, he himself hadn’t been afforded the luxury of seeing any of the wealth himself, and so he’d hoarded the odd coin here or there. 

He left in the morning, sneaking out before the sun rose, and spent the day walking. Julian wasn’t sure where he wanted to go, other than  _ away _ , and he kept walking long after his muscles protested the strain. By the time night started falling he’d put a good distance between himself and his home. 

He was half worried that his father would send out a search party when they discovered Julian was missing, but the other half of him thought that his father wouldn’t want to spare the coin, glad he was gone. Either way, he decided that sleeping so close to the main road was probably a bad idea and he walked a ways into the woods before looking for a place to camp for the night. 

As soon as he found a suitable spot, Julian realized his mistake, and he frowned at himself for forgetting to bring something to sleep on. A bedroll would have been a good plan, but he had only his bag and so he lay down on the softest patch of grass he could find and propped the bag under his head for a pillow. The sun was almost down now, and he sighed, hoping he hadn’t made too large a mistake. 

The snap of a twig in the forest made Julian shoot up, eyes scanning his surroundings, and when he saw Geralt step out from behind a copse of trees he sighed, relieved that it was his friend. 

“Geralt!” Julian, after tamping down his fear of what else might be lurking in the woods, jumped up, giving Geralt a grin. “How lovely to see you here! I had thought I might run into you, of course, but, well, I wasn’t sure if you’d show up, now that I’m – well, now that I’ve left home.” 

Geralt looked him up and down, eying the clothes that Julian had already realized were not ideal for travel and then casting a gaze around the darkening forest they stood in. He grunted and stepped closer. 

“You’re not getting rid of me, Julian, even if you wanted to.” 

Julian sat back down on the grass and patted the spot next to himself. “Ah, well, I don’t think I’d ever want to be rid of you, Geralt – you’re my guardian angel.” 

Geralt snorted and sat, crossing his legs underneath himself. “I’m not your guardian angel, Julian.” It was an argument they’d had many times, and each time Geralt tried to declare himself not to be Julian’s guardian angel. Julian would have been hurt had he not seen the way Geralt’s face softened each time he called him that. 

Julian rolled his eyes at his friend and then leaned closer to him, sighing at the warmth Geralt’s body gave off. “Gods, you’re so warm, thank heavens. I should have brought... well, I should have brought a great many things, but I didn’t really think it through, did I?” Geralt grunted at him again. “But a bedroll or maybe something to start a fire would have been useful. Ah, well, I’ve got you here with me to keep me warm, at least.” 

Geralt grunted again, this time one of his ‘thinking’ grunts, and Julian didn’t probe further, instead working his fingers into the seam between Geralt’s shirt and pants and sighing as he felt the warm skin leeching feeling into his hands. Geralt twitched a little at the feeling of Julian’s ice cold fingers, but didn’t shove him away. 

Once Julian could feel his hands somewhat he drew them back, not wanting to take more than Geralt wanted to give him. While Julian had been  _ well _ aware of the fact that his guardian angel just so happened to be one of the most attractive people he’d ever set eyes on, he hadn’t ever acted on that information, too grateful for Geralt’s presence to chance losing him like that. 

Freed from Julian’s grip, Geralt shifted and stood once more, looking around the clearing that had darkened rapidly since his appearance. Julian couldn’t see him clearly, but he heard the other man shifting his weight as he stood there. Finally he spoke. “Stay here, don’t move. I’ll be back soon.” 

Geralt offered no more explanation before he stalked off, deeper into the woods and almost immediately out of Julian’s sight. Julian squinted, trying to see his friend in the darkness, but his pitiful human eyes afforded him almost no visibility with the moon hidden behind clouds. He stayed seated, obeying Geralt’s orders, and when he heard something stomping back towards him, he felt a shiver of fear creep up his spine that it might not be Geralt and instead some other creature that lived in the woods coming to eat him. 

“G-Geralt, is that you?” His voice was thin and threatened to crack, but he kept his head up, trying to see through the darkness. 

The responding answer came immediately. “It’s me. Hold on.” Julian could recognize Geralt’s growled tone even at a low volume after years of knowing the man, and when Geralt finally stomped back into the small clearing, Julian sighed with relief, even if he still couldn’t see much more than a large black blob through the darkness. 

Geralt dropped something a few feet from Julian, and when he sat heavily, Julian reached out for him, needing to touch and make sure he was still there. Geralt only grunted when he felt Julian’s hands on his back, but he didn’t stop whatever it was that he was doing. 

“Geralt, what were you doing? What are you doing now?” Julian’s voice was high and curious, and Geralt shifted under his touch. 

“Fire. Gotta finish building it properly before I light it though, so you’ve gotta wait another minute or two.” 

Julian gripped him more tightly and shifted so he was half-draped over the other man’s back as he worked. “Oh, Geralt, that’s wonderful! A fire will be so nice and warm! Thank you so much. You just happened to have a flint on you?” 

Geralt grunted and shook his head, not trying to dislodge Julian from his position as an incredibly annoying limpet. “No flint, but I can light it. You’ll need to get yourself a flint though, and soon.” He finished whatever he was doing with his hands and leaned back into Julian’s touch. When he spoke again, it was just a murmur and Julian strained to hear him despite being so close. “Igni.” 

The fire roared to life, crackling like it had been burning for hours already, and Julian gasped in delight. “Oh, Geralt, that’s lovely!” He let go of Geralt’s back and scooted around him so he could be closer to the warmth. “And yes, I’ll - I’ll have to get some supplies when I run into a town, I wasn’t thinking about that when I left.” 

Geralt hummed, still staring at the fire instead of at Julian. “Good. We’re in Lettenhove, right?” 

Julian nodded at him. “Yeah, although I’m hoping to be out of the forest and headed away from here as soon as I can be.” 

Geralt looked up and caught his eyes. “Where are you going?” 

Julian shrugged. “I don’t really know, but anywhere is better than where I was.” Geralt hummed his agreement with the statement. “I thought I might travel south, see some of the continent, what do you think?” 

Geralt was silent for a long moment, staring at him. When Julian started to worry, Geralt finally sighed, breaking eye contact. “I think you would like traveling, Julian, it’ll be good for you. But if you want, there’s also a – there’s a university called Oxenfurt – it’s a week or so’s travel from here – where you could study. I think you’d like it; they’ve got music and literature.” 

It was the most he’d ever heard Geralt speak at one time, and Julian’s heart softened at the thought of Geralt wanting him to find something he loved doing. He put a hand over Geralt’s where it rested on Geralt’s knee. 

“That sounds like an excellent idea, thank you for letting me know, Geralt.” Julian gave the other man a grin. “I’ll just have to hope that I find a town to sell me some supplies soon, otherwise I fear you’ll be popping up every night from here to there to keep me warm.” 

His teasing didn’t affect the grumpy witcher as he hoped it would, and Geralt just frowned harder at him. “Hmm. You need supplies, and good ones.” Julian rolled his eyes at the man, swatting at his chest. 

“Yes, yes, I’ll get some, I promise, I won’t keep dragging you out into the middle of the woods to keep me safe.” 

Geralt shook his head, brushing off the suggestion. “I don’t care about that, but do you actually have money to buy anything?” 

Julian shrugged at him, not meeting his eyes. “Eh, not really, but I’ll figure something out.” He waved a hand, dismissing Geralt’s concerns, but Geralt was not to be deterred. 

“Julian, you need good supplies.” He frowned to himself for a few moments longer. “There’s a town on the way to Oxenfurt, you should reach it tomorrow if you keep moving. They had a drowner problem a few years back; I helped with it. If you go to the blacksmith and tell him you know Geralt of Rivia, he’ll be able to make sure you get everything you need.” 

Julian gaped at him, gobsmacked. “What? You’re – but you... what?” 

Geralt looked back at him over the fire, unsure what Julian was asking, and Julian just spluttered at him for another moment. Eventually he got his words in order. “Geralt, are you  _ real _ ? Do you have, I don’t know, other things that you do when you’re not with me?  _ Other people know who you are _ ?” 

Geralt gave him a smirk and raised an eyebrow. “You thought I wasn’t real?” 

Julian spluttered some more and shrugged at him. “I don’t know, I’ve known you my whole life, Geralt, I sort of thought you were just, well, a figment of my imagination, or someone who only shows up in front of me, or something.” Geralt looked meaningfully down at the fire still crackling between them, and then back up to Julian’s face. Julian sighed, running a hand over his eyes. “Look, Geralt, you only show up when nobody else is around, how the hell was I supposed to know that you actually  _ exist  _ and  _ do things _ when you’re not with me?” 

Geralt shrugged at him. “I don’t. Well, I do, in a manner of speaking, but I’m – it’s complicated, Julian. I’ll be able to explain it better at some point, but you – it’s just complicated.” He sighed. “Just go to the village, tell them you know me. They’ll help you.” 

Julian gaped at him a moment longer before settling back down, glaring at the fire. “Fine, I’ll go and tell them I know you. But don’t think for a second that I won’t be bothering them for every detail I can get about you, you know.” 

To his surprise, Geralt chuckled, and it was a warm, dark sound that had Julian shivering and not from the cold. “That’s acceptable. But don’t go chasing after me, alright? I’ll tell you everything when I think it’s safe for you to know, but it’s just – there are complications, and I’d rather you not push too far at the moment.” 

Julian sighed again and nodded at the larger man. “Fine, fine.” 

He was rewarded with a genuine smile, and Geralt shifted to lean back against a tree, extending his legs out. “Now, come here, you need to sleep if you’re to reach that village tomorrow.” 

Julian went, and when Geralt pushed at him so he lay with his head pillowed on Geralt’s thighs, he didn’t argue. “Sleep, Julian. You’ll know everything soon enough, I promise.” Geralt’s hands were carding through his hair again, something the man seemed to know comforted him, and despite his wishes to stay awake and with Geralt, Julian felt himself quickly being lost to the shores of sleep. 

When he woke in the morning, all he found were the remains of a campfire and his bag under his head as a pillow. 

The town Geralt insisted he go to wasn’t all that hard to find, and he was directed to the blacksmith’s quite easily. The blacksmith was a large man with very little hair, and his eyes roamed over Julian’s form and seemed to come up lacking, as he turned away from Julian with a huff to shove the red-hot sword in his hands into a bucket of water. 

Julian wasn’t one to be deterred, however, and he cleared his throat, stepping closer to the man. “Hello, uh, sir, I - I’m, uhm, friends with Geralt of Rivia, he sent me here to – he said he’d helped you, and you’d be able to assist me with a matter.” 

The blacksmith turned back around to face him, his eyebrows narrowing. “Hmmph, friend of his? He doesn’t have any friends, and if he did, they wouldn’t look like you.” 

Julian frowned right back at him, not wanting to be outdone. “Well, it’s true, he said you owed him a favor, since he dealt with some drowners for you.” The man’s frown deepened and Julian hurried on. “Come on,  _ Geralt _ , he’s big, white hair, rather grumpy although most of the time he’s only pretending to be.” 

The blacksmith rolled his eyes and set the sword down. “And what exactly am I supposed to be doing for you?” 

Julian grinned, gleeful, and set out explaining what he needed. The blacksmith seemed annoyed but he did manage to find the traveling supplies Julian needed at a considerable discount, which was just within the range that Julian could afford. Julian thanked him profusely and even hugged the man, which he endured with the kind of gruff discomfort that only came from not being hugged as much as one should. 

That night, as Julian settled down in front of his rather flimsy campfire in his new bedroll, no Geralt appeared before him, and he sighed, grateful that he’d managed to take care of himself but sad that he only saw his friend when he was hurt or scared. 

He made it to Oxenfurt in a week, and he quickly found that Geralt had been right – he loved it there, and after only a few weeks of study he decided to become a bard, to travel the continent and sing daring tales of adventure. 

Six months passed quickly and Julian threw himself into both his studies and the arms of anyone that would have him; the university was full of young men and women, all teeming with passion, which Julian took to like a duck to water. He fell in and out of beds, content to learn everything he could about the more carnal arts, and didn’t stop to think about what he was doing until one of his regular paramours, Seraphina, broke off their liaison and told him sadly that she loved him but it hurt her to see him with others.

Julian begged her, told her he’d stop seeing everyone else, but she was firm and insistent. Even as she pushed him away, she smiled. “I love you, but trying to keep you in one bed for the rest of your life would be a mistake, both for you and me, and I’d rather you be free.” 

He let her go, of course, not wanting to draw it out and hurt her further, but he couldn’t help the heartache at her loss, the loss of what they’d shared together. 

That was how Geralt found him, laying on his bed desolate with thoughts of nothing but her, nothing but the loss of her. Wordlessly, Geralt sat next to him, running fingers through his hair, and Julian sighed before curling into the touch. 

“Geralt, it  _ hurts _ .” His voice was weak; he’d been crying, and Geralt’s fingers stilled in their motion through his hair. 

“What does? Are you injured?” His voice was worried, and Julian shook his head, wiggling until he lay in Geralt’s lap, with Geralt working warm fingers over his scalp. 

“No, not physically, but Seraphina, she – she said she loves me, and then that she couldn’t be with me, Geralt. My heart aches for her.” 

Geralt sighed heavily. “Ah, of course. I should have known.” Despite his words, he didn’t stop petting Julian’s hair, so Julian ignored the comment. 

“Geralt, I’m so sad. I may never feel true happiness again.” 

Geralt hummed in acknowledgement of his words but didn’t speak again. Julian cracked an eye to look up at him, and found the witcher looking down at him with a fond smile. “Geralt! You’re – why are you smiling at me? At my misfortune?” 

Julian’s voice raised as he spoke, and Geralt’s smile grew into a full grin despite the boy’s betrayed look. “I’m not smiling at your misfortune, I’m just – you’re going through heartbreak, it’s a normal thing that kids go through. You’ll be alright, I promise.” 

His words did nothing to heal Julian’s heart, but Julian let Geralt tug his head back down to his lap, hands moving through Julian’s hair once more. “Fine, witcher, just fine.” While he was pouting, Julian’s mind returned to the tidbits he’d learned about Geralt since leaving home, and he turned to look Geralt in the eyes, head still pillowed on the man’s thigh. “And you, hold on, I’ve been asking about you.” 

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t I tell you specifically not to do that?” 

Julian scoffed, rolling his eyes. “No, you told me not to go looking for you, which I haven’t. That doesn’t mean I haven’t been asking people about you, and you, dear witcher, have quite the reputation.” 

If he wasn’t staring at Geralt’s face, he wouldn’t have seen the wince the witcher tried to hide. Julian frowned up at him, reaching a hand to trace over Geralt’s cheek. Geralt closed his eyes. “Yeah, I know, Butcher of Blaviken, all that.” His voice was rough, and he stopped petting Julian’s hair. “Just... just don’t believe everything you hear, Julian.” 

Julian sat up at that, righting himself so quickly he needed a moment for his vision to stop spinning. When it finally cleared, he saw Geralt looking at him, wary. 

“Ah, yes, dear Geralt, my guardian angel, that reminds me that I have something else to tell you.” Geralt lifted an eyebrow, waiting, and Julian cleared his throat. “I uh, well I’ve decided to start going by a different name, you see.” 

Geralt’s posture relaxed at that, and he nodded once. “You have, have you? Well then, what is it?” 

Julian bit his lip and then answered. “I’m going by Jaskier. It’s – I like it... it feels more fitting and I don’t really want everyone to know just who I am and where I come from, you see. This way my parents will have a harder time finding me, if they ever decide to go looking.” 

Geralt just stared at him and Jaskier fought the urge to squirm under the weight of the man’s gaze. After another few moments, Geralt sighed and rubbed a hand over his face with a nod. 

“Alright, Jaskier it is.” The name sounded natural coming from his lips, and Jaskier frowned at him, still unsure why Geralt seemed so unhappy at the information. 

“Did - Did I do something wrong? Do you not like it?” Jaskier’s voice was timid and Geralt quickly opened his eyes, looking over to him. Before he knew what was happening, Geralt had reached for him, pulling him close and holding Jaskier against his chest, his face in Jaskier’s hair. 

“I like it, it fits you. And you didn’t do anything wrong, Jaskier, I’m just – you’re getting older, and I wasn’t really looking forward to having to tell you some of why I’m bound to you, but I need to tell you.” 

Jaskier pushed away from him in order to meet Geralt’s eyes with a frown. “You’ve got to tell me, and you really….don’t want to.” He sighed. “Okay, well, not that that’s not – I understand not wanting to share all your secrets with a measly bard-in-training, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to, Geralt. I know I’ve pushed, but I’m – you don’t have to tell me anything.” 

Geralt sighed and Jaskier felt the air brush over the top of his hair. “It’s not a matter of not wanting to tell you – it would be so much easier for both of us if I could tell you everything right now. But I’m trying not to - not to upset anything. I don’t want to – I might be exposing either you or me to more danger if I tell you everything, and I don’t want to do that.” 

Julian sighed, saying nothing more, and kept leaning against his friend. “Right, alright, I get it. Just tell me what I need to know and I won’t push for more.” 

Geralt gave him a squeeze. “Thank you, Jaskier.” He rested his chin on Jaskier’s head for a moment before speaking again. “I just – I need you to know a few things, and they might not make much sense right now.” 

Jaskier nodded. “Alright, go ahead.” 

“You – Jaskier, when I told you not to go looking for me, I meant that you shouldn’t go out of your way to find me. But you may - you may run into me, sometime soon.” He cleared his throat and Jaskier said nothing, waiting for more. “Don’t – I might not be the same person you know me as, when you meet me. I - I care about you, Jaskier, just don’t forget that. I care about you and whenever you need it, I’ll be here to take care of you, even if it might not seem like that sometimes.” 

Jaskier nodded, his face still pressed against Geralt’s chest. “I couldn’t ever doubt that, Geralt; you’ve been here for me for my entire life.” His words caused Geralt to chuckle and he felt the vibrations through the man’s shirt. 

“Yes, well, that might soon change, little bard. But don’t lose faith; I promise I’ll be here for you.” 

Jaskier sighed and burrowed further into the warmth of his embrace. “I won’t, Geralt. I love you.” His words were sleepy and Geralt just held him tighter, hands running over his back. Jaskier was sleepy from the heartbreak of the day, and the stress of Geralt’s cryptic warnings had only served to more fully exhaust him. “I’m going to fall asleep on you now, Geralt.” 

Geralt just chuckled again and gathered him close, shifting him so Jaskier could more comfortably lean against his chest to sleep. Jaskier was unconscious in seconds, his hands curled into Geralt’s shirt and holding him close. 

When Geralt next appeared, Jaskier was spitting mad. Usually, when Geralt popped into existence, it took a few moments for him to become aware of his surroundings, his body protesting whatever it was that kept pulling him through time and space. This time, before he became aware of anything else around him he could feel hands on his chest, pushing at him until his back connected with a wall. 

He groaned as he smacked into the wall, and the hands let go of him. “What the actual fuck, Geralt?” Jaskier’s voice was angry, and when Geralt blinked, Jaskier’s face swam into focus in front of him, pouting and unhappy. “Were you  _ ever  _ planning on telling me that you’re a gigantic fucking asshole?” 

Geralt groaned and closed his eyes again, letting his head fall back against the wall at his back. “I take it we’ve met, then.” 

Jaskier hissed, incensed. “Yes, we have, and might I say that you were no help at all? There I was, captured by elves and expecting to die at any moment, and you - you were nowhere to be found.” He poked Geralt in the chest, emphasising the point. 

Geralt opened his eyes to look at Jaskier, raising an eyebrow at the bard. “I seem to remember that day very differently.” 

Jaskier huffed but some of the anger seemed to drain out of him. “Well, yes, you were  _ there _ , but come on, Geralt. That’s not what I meant and you know it.” 

Geralt sighed and nodded at him. “Yes, I know. I think whatever it is that keeps bringing me to you when you’re scared or hurt is only able to do so when you’re alone.” He rubbed at his face. “But I also knew you’d be alright, Jaskier. Everything worked out, didn’t it?” 

When he finally looked back to Jaskier, the bard had sat heavily on the small bed and was looking up at him with pleading eyes. Geralt sighed before sitting next to him. He hesitated for a moment before wrapping an arm around Jaskier’s waist, pulling the smaller man close, and breathed out a sigh of relief when Jaskier melted against his side, going boneless against him. 

“Yes, it was fine, they let us go. You were almost no help whatsoever, giving them all your money, but I did get a lute out of the deal at least.” Geralt had to grin at the tender way Jaskier mentioned the lute, and he could see it where it lay on the small table in the room. “But really, Geralt, you’re an ass. You  _ punched me _ !” Jaskier knew he was whining but he couldn’t help it, turning towards Geralt’s bulk and wrapping his arms around the man’s chest, burrowing his face into Geralt’s stomach. 

Geralt squeezed him, unsure how to respond for long moments. “Jaskier, I’m - I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it, and at the time I was just frustrated with being called a butcher.” Jaskier squeezed him tighter. “I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, Jaskier, and I’m sorry.” 

His words were greeted with a sigh, and when Jaskier shifted against him, Geralt let him draw back. Jaskier’s eyes were tired when he met Geralt’s, and Geralt’s heart ached at the sight. “I was worried about you, you know. When we were tied up, with the elves. Even though you were a dick to me, you still argued with them to let me go, said that they just wanted you.” 

Jaskier frowned at him and reached up to brush his hair away from his face. Geralt let him, Jaskier’s hands warm against his skin, and didn’t say anything. 

Jaskier ran a thumb over Geralt’s cheek. “I was worried about you, Geralt. You lead a dangerous life, and you’re – you just, you keep showing up when I need you, and I – I’m selfish, I don’t want to lose you, especially not now that I’ve finally  _ found _ you.” 

Geralt hummed, not leaning into the touch, although it was a close thing. Jaskier sighed and snuggled back down against Geralt’s chest, breathing in deeply. Geralt lifted his arms and squeezed Jaskier closer to him, burying his nose in Jaskier’s hair. 

“I’m sorry, Jaskier. I’ll be fine, though, I promise.” His words were rumbled and Jaskier felt the vibrations where his ear was pressed against Geralt’s chest. 

“Yes, well, you better be. And don’t think I didn’t notice that you conveniently forgot to mention that you were from the future, you brute.” Jaskier’s hands gripped Geralt’s forearm, where the three jagged scratches had faded to a softer pink scar now, although they were still rather fresh. “I saw your – his –  _ your  _ arm, earlier, you didn’t have these. You’ve always had these, but the other you doesn’t have them.” Geralt hummed, not answering. “So I have to assume that you’re somehow you but not you, Geralt, and that you at some point will get these.” 

Geralt hummed his agreement, and Jaskier fell silent, tracing his fingers over the scars. When he finally spoke again, Geralt tensed a little, having thought Jaskier was asleep. 

“Geralt, are – what’s going to happen? With... with me, with us? You’re – no offense, but I don’t think you like me very much, and I don't want to lose you.” The words were soft, and Geralt sighed against Jaskier’s hair before answering. 

“I can’t tell you what’s going to happen. I don’t know if it will change anything, or if it will make a difference. But I promise that I do like you, even if it might take a while for the other me to admit it.” 

Jaskier shifted against him once more, nuzzling closer and making himself comfortable on Geralt’s lap. “Alright then, but I hope you know that I’m rather annoying, all things considered, and you’re the one who’s asking for it.” 

Geralt hummed again, smiling softly, and shifted back on the small bed so Jaskier could lay more comfortably against him to sleep. 

“Don’t worry, little bard, I promise that my life is all the better for having you in it.” Jaskier made a soft, sleepy noise at that, nosing against Geralt’s stomach. A thought occurred to Geralt, and he placed a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. “Jaskier, before you fall asleep–” Jaskier made a questioning noise, and Geralt hesitated before continuing. “I – the other me, he told you he’d be leaving tomorrow at noon, but he’s planning to leave by sunrise, in order to keep you from following. You need to meet him at the stables at dawn, or else you’ll be left here.” 

Jaskier groaned softly but nodded against Geralt’s chest. “Alright, you ass, I’ll be there.” 

Geralt sighed again and relaxed against his bard. He’d always wondered how Jaskier had known he planned to leave earlier than he said, and now he had his answer at least. 

Geralt felt his eyes drooping and he didn’t fight it, instead dozing off with Jaskier pillowed against his chest, snoring softly. 

When Geralt next became aware of himself, the first thing he noticed was the noise. Usually when Jaskier needed him, he was alone and somewhere quiet, and Geralt had gotten used to the calm of it, being able to slowly become aware of his surroundings as the magic tethering him to Jaskier brought him back to awareness. 

Now, however, he became aware of himself all at once, and he winced as the sounds of fighting, drunken jeering, and screaming filled his ears, nearly overloading his senses. He grunted, closing his eyes and attempting to filter out all of the excess noise in order to keep from being overwhelmed. After another few moments, his senses settled and he was able to crack one eye open in order to look around. 

What he saw was that he stood in the middle of a forest, and it was nighttime. The cacophony that assaulted his ears was coming from in front of him, and as he peered through the trees he saw the signs of a large bonfire, surrounded by men who were all in various stages of inebriation. 

Geralt opened his eyes wider, scanning the forest for signs of Jaskier, who was usually within arms reach of him whenever he appeared. He didn’t see the bard, and he frowned, stepping closer to the spectacle in front of him. Upon closer inspection, he realized that the men were likely bandits, and they were all whooping and hollering in drunken merriment, celebrating something that Geralt was certain he didn’t like. 

As he closed the distance between himself and the group of bandits, Geralt kept scanning the area, looking for Jaskier. When he was almost to the edge of the clearing holding the group of men, he finally saw a figure slumped over on the ground next to the bonfire, hands bound behind his back. Geralt recognized the doublet from the back – it had been one of Jaskier’s favourites, until he stopped wearing it rather suddenly – and it took all of his willpower not to storm into the center of the group of men, swords drawn. 

Geralt took a breath to center himself, looking around the clearing in order to get a good idea of what he was up against. There were seven men total, not counting Jaskier. Three were seated, eating meat off sticks that had been stuck into the ground over the fire, another two were arguing loudly over who was better at belching, and the last pair were drinking heavily, singing Jaskier’s songs loudly and off tune and passing a bottle back and forth. All seven of the men seemed to be some level of inebriated, and Geralt was grateful for that at least, since it would make his job easier. 

He drew his steel sword silently and used the cover of the trees to make a wide semi-circle around the clearing, positioning himself so that most of the men were facing away from where he stood. The two men arguing with each other were the only ones who could see him when he stepped out from the trees, but they were too involved in their argument to notice and Geralt took full advantage of their distraction. 

He rushed forward and pushed his sword through the neck of one of the men, pulling it back immediately and swinging it a foot to cut into the neck of the other, who only had time to give him a wide eyed look of surprise before dropping to the ground. The sound of his body hitting the dirt was enough to cause the others to look over, but Geralt was already on them, slicing through the two men who’d been drinking before they even had a chance to draw their weapons. 

When Geralt turned, the three men who’d been eating by the fire were on their feet, weapons drawn, and he grunted in annoyance before starting towards them. When the first lunged at him, he parried and shoved his sword through the man’s gut, shoving him away and whirling around. The second man was more hesitant to attack him having seen what happened to his friend, but he steeled himself and charged. 

Geralt easily disarmed him before swinging his blade into the man’s neck, shoving him to the ground with the force of the swing. The third man, when Geralt turned to look at him, gulped and then threw down his sword, throwing his hands up and backing away. 

“I yield! Please, mercy!” Geralt hesitated at the man’s cry, and with the momentary distraction, the man turned and fled, running into the woods without a backwards glance. Geralt didn’t bother following him, instead turning back to Jaskier. 

“Jaskier, are you alright?” He approached the bound bard, circling around him so he faced the other man, and Jaskier looked up at him in confusion. 

“G-Geralt? What are you doing here?” His eyes were wide and Geralt leaned down and used his sword to slice through Jaskier’s bindings, freeing his arms easily. Once he was free, Jaskier heaved a sigh and rolled his shoulders, flexing his fingers and looking away from Geralt. 

“Jaskier, are you alright?” Geralt knelt and gently took Jaskier’s hands in his own, checking the bard for any injuries and moving his joints back and forth to test his range of motion. Jaskier didn’t answer right away, instead letting Geralt check him systematically. When he didn’t answer, Geralt moved a hand from his hands to the bard’s chin, tilting his head back so Jaskier had to look him in the eyes. “Jaskier, did they hurt you?” 

The bard shook his head and opened his mouth, but seemed to think better of it and closed it again. After another moment of staring into the smaller man’s eyes, Geralt finally let go of his chin, letting Jaskier look away. 

He dropped Jaskier’s hands, shuffling backwards to put some distance between their two bodies. “Jaskier, I’m - I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” He wasn’t sure why Jaskier was still avoiding his gaze, but at his apology, Jaskier’s eyes snapped up, searching Geralt’s face and then dropping his eyes to Geralt’s arm. 

“Oh.  _ Oh _ .” Jaskier’s eyes lit up with emotion and then he lunged forward, wrapping his arms tightly around Geralt’s neck and clinging to him. “ _ Geralt _ .” 

Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s back hesitantly, unsure why the bard now was alright with touching him but unable to keep himself from relishing the confirmation that Jaskier really was alright, warm and solid in his arms. 

Jaskier clutched at him for a moment or two longer before pulling back to meet Geralt’s eyes. “Uh, hi, Geralt. Thanks for saving me.” He flushed, and Geralt’s heart clenched at the sight. “I didn’t realize you were, well, you. Sorry you got dragged all the way out here just to save my ass.” 

Geralt frowned at him. “I’d rather save you than  _ not  _ save you, Jaskier, you know that.” 

Jaskier shrugged, not meeting his eyes again. “Yeah, well, you’re – the other you, I mean, you’re not all that happy about having to save me usually.” 

Geralt grunted and had to resist the urge to smack himself in the forehead. He’d truly been an ass to Jaskier for years, and he didn’t know why the bard put up with him sometimes. 

“Jaskier, I’m sorry if I made you feel that way. I care about you and I’ll save you every time, I promise.” He gripped Jaskier’s hands tightly, hoping the bard believed him. “The other me may be an ass, but he cares about you too, even if he’s more of a shithead about saying it.” 

Jaskier chuckled weakly, giving Geralt’s hands a squeeze. “Yes, well, he’s a shithead about a lot of things.” He shifted, wincing as the movement brought his attention to his aching knees, and Geralt quickly dropped his hands in favor of wrapping his hands around Jaskier’s hips, helping him to stretch out his legs and ease the strain on his knees. 

“They didn’t hurt you, did they?” Geralt’s voice held a note of genuine concern, and Jaskier smiled at him. 

“They just tied me up, yelled a bit, not much more than that. They weren’t the smartest, you know, rather drunk and stupid, but they managed to get lucky when the captured me.” He shrugged at Geralt. “You and I – the other you, I mean – we parted ways a few weeks ago, since you were headed south and I had a prior commitment to the east.” He sniffed. “It’s actually the first time we’ve been parted since I met you, you know. I was wondering if I’d ever see you again; you-you I mean.” 

Geralt nodded, he did know what Jaskier meant, and said nothing. Jaskier continued after another minute. “Anyway, they came across me with my pants down, taking a piss, and managed to restrain me.” He shrugged again. “I didn’t think you’d be able to help me, since they were, uh, here? I thought you couldn’t appear when there were people around.”

Geralt frowned. “I hadn’t thought of that. I thought that I wouldn’t be able to appear in front of anyone else either.” He looked back at the bodies still laying to the side, studying them. “Maybe it’s only when my appearance would be in front of someone who would know who I am?” He shrugged, looking back to Jaskier. “I haven’t appeared whenever you’ve been around the other me, anyway, so maybe it’s just him or something.” 

Jaskier shrugged as well, looking unconcerned. “Either way, I’m glad that you were here, or else I would have been in a lot more trouble.” 

Geralt hummed before moving his feet and sitting down next to Jaskier with a thump, wrapping one hand around the bard’s waist and pulling him close. “I’m glad I was here to help too.” Jaskier leaned heavily against him, his arms going around Geralt’s stomach as his head dropped against Geralt’s chest. 

“Hmm, well, this has been fun but I’m pretty sure that I’m going to pass out now, Geralt. I’ll get myself out of here in the morning, but I’m really quite exhausted right now.” True to his word, Jaskier’s eyes were already fluttering closed, his grip on Geralt going lax. Geralt didn’t try to move him off, instead content to hold Jaskier close, letting him sleep. 

The next few years went more or less the same for Jaskier, and he spent his time either in Geralt’s company while they traveled together, meaning he didn’t have much opportunity to see  _ his _ Geralt, or traveling by himself, which presented more opportunities to see his Geralt but also brought its own challenges, namely the fact that he only saw his Geralt when he was scared or sad or upset. 

Geralt had to save him from bandits no less than three times, and each time Jaskier felt embarrassed at needing to be saved but didn’t protest when Geralt wrapped those warm arms around him, holding him tight. Twice, Jaskier was caught by angry spouses, and Geralt had to appear in order to keep him from being castrated, which was embarrassing all around. Jaskier didn’t miss the way Geralt’s eyes flashed at the reminder of Jaskier’s dalliances, but the larger man said nothing on the subject, instead just swooping in to save Jaskier from the angry wife or husband and disappearing once the danger was past. 

When Geralt claimed the law of surprise at the Cintran court, he left almost immediately, having done his duty to save Jaskier from angry cuckolds and wanting out of that blasted country. Jaskier was left gaping at the assembled crowd, and when he finally made it away from the banquet hall and back to his own rooms, his Geralt materialized as soon as the door shut. 

Geralt,  _ Jaskier’s _ Geralt, took one look around the room he found himself in and sat heavily on the bed. “Fuck.” 

Jaskier barked out a laugh, unable to control himself, and sat next to his witcher. “Yes, that’s what you said earlier too.” His words weren’t mean, however, and when Geralt raised an arm Jaskier took the offer, burrowing into the warmth of Geralt’s side and gripping him tightly. “Geralt, I’m sorry.” 

Geralt’s hand patted at his hair, and the man took a deep breath before sighing. “You don’t have to apologize, Jaskier. You didn’t know what would happen any more than I did.” 

Jaskier shook his head, face still pressed into Geralt’s chest. “I still feel like I should have been able to help. And then - and then you  _ left _ , you’re gone, Geralt, and I didn’t get a chance to tell you that I was sorry.” 

Geralt sighed again and brought his free hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Fuck, Jaskier.” The bard was sniffling, and Geralt wanted nothing more than to be able to punch himself in the face. “I can’t – I’m not going to tell you that I wouldn’t hold it against you, because I’m me and I’m an ass and I  _ do _ hold it against you for far too long.” Jaskier shivered in his arms, and Geralt held him tighter, wishing he could take back every harsh word ever said to the bard. “But Jaskier, I - I don’t care how this fucks up everything, I need you to know this. I - I’m so,  _ so _ glad for this night, for what happened here this evening, even if I don’t realize that for fucking years.” 

His throat was tight, but Geralt kept talking, needing to make sure Jaskier knew the truth about this. “Jaskier, I – Ciri is the  _ best _ thing that’s ever happened to me, after you, and I couldn’t be happier that I have her in my life.” 

That was enough to cause Jaskier to wrench back, looking at Geralt in absolute shock. “You...you claimed her?” 

Geralt shook his head, unwilling to get into the details. “I can’t tell you much more, I don’t want to change anything, but know that I’ll love that little girl more than anything else in the world.” He hesitated, eyes flitting from Jaskier’s eyes to his lips and then away, to the large bathtub still sitting off to one side. “I haven’t ever told you this, but I’m so,  _ so _ grateful that I have her, and I need to thank you for being part of the reason I have her by my side.” 

Jaskier was stunned into silence for once, still gaping at Geralt with wide eyes. After a minute or two, he gathered himself back up, shutting his mouth and shaking himself a little. He plastered on a smile, giving Geralt a look that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Well, Geralt, I should say so. you’re a good man and I should have known you’d take to fatherhood well.” 

Geralt snorted and tugged Jaskier closer to him once more, his arms wrapping around the bard tightly. “I don’t. I’m going to spend far too long avoiding it, pretending destiny isn’t real, and generally being an ass.” He squeezed Jaskier, nosing against the bard’s hair and breathing in deeply. “I know that I’m - I’m not the easiest to be around, sometimes, and I’ll be even worse about this, but I’m telling you right now that I love you, and I’m glad for you being in my life, Jaskier, and you’ve been the cause of more good than bad over the years.” 

Jaskier made a wet sound into his shirt and Geralt pretended he hadn’t heard it, that he couldn’t smell the tears dripping into the soft fabric where Jaskier’s face was pressed against him. He just rubbed along Jaskier’s back, hoping against hope that the bard would believe him, with everything he had coming. 

After crying himself out, Jaskier fell asleep quickly, the exhaustion taking its toll on him, and Geralt arranged them so he sat against the pillows of the bed, with Jaskier sleeping against his chest. It was comfortable, more than Geralt expected it to be, and he found himself drifting off as well after only a few minutes. 

Geralt had to appear a few more times to save Jaskier from bandits, thieves, bounty hunters, and a couple of rather enraged prostitutes, but when he finally materialized next to Jaskier as the bard sat in shock near to a rather memorable and now crumbling house, Geralt felt true panic set in for the first time since he’d started appearing at Jaskier’s side. 

“Fuck.” 

His voice was enough to stir the bard, who turned sharply to look at him, blood still covering the front of his shirt. “Geralt!” His voice was whisper-screamed, and his eyes held a vitriol in them that Geralt hadn’t seen before. “Geralt, you’re - you’re in there, right now! Fucking that...that fucking witch!” 

Geralt sighed, sitting down beside Jaskier heavily. “Yes, well. Never let it be said that I’m one for making good decisions.” 

Jaskier didn’t have an answer to that, and he sighed heavily, leaning back against Geralt as he did. “I just don’t understand why you did it. She’s, well, beautiful, but she’s a crazy fucking witch! A psycho! She nearly killed me Geralt!” 

Geralt tugged his bard a bit closer, looking up at where the building was still looking awfully unstable. “She saved your life.” 

Jaskier grunted, annoyed. Geralt tightened his grip, wanting to pull Jaskier closer, and was surprised when Jaskier tried to shrug him off. He slapped at Geralt’s hands and righted himself, glaring. 

“I don’t bloody well care that she saved my life, Geralt. You’re - you’re  _ fucking her _ , for the gods’ sakes.” He inhaled sharply, and Geralt’s heart clenched at the sound of Jaskier barely holding it together. When he looked back at Jaskier, the man’s eyes were watery and his arms were wrapped around his knees, trying to hold himself together. Geralt winced. 

“I’m sorry, Jaskier.” He didn’t know what else to say, and so he just sat there, a foot from his bard and unable to help. 

Jaskier grunted again, looking away, and just curled himself tighter. When he finally had a grip on himself, he lifted his head, intending to apologize to Geralt for his frustration. It wasn’t Geralt’s fault that he felt as he did. When he turned, though, Geralt was gone, the only sign that he’d been there at all a slight indentation in the grass. 

“Jaskier! Let’s go!” The sound of Geralt’s sharp voice coming from the door to the house was enough to make him jump, and Jaskier stood sharply, ready to follow his witcher away from this wretched town, hopefully somewhere far away. 

The next times Geralt showed up at Jaskier’s side, he had to fight the urge to flinch away from the bard, unable to look him in the eyes. Jaskier had a few more scrapes with mercenaries and the like and Geralt was there to help him, but Geralt also knew what was coming, the anticipation making him tense with worry and guilt. 

As it was, when Geralt finally materialized in a dark but familiar wood it was to the sounds of quiet sobbing behind him. He turned and found Jaskier seated on his bedroll, arms wrapped around his knees in the same position that he’d been in after the Djinn incident. Geralt sucked in a breath, heart aching as he saw Jaskier so openly hurting after that disastrous dragon hunt. 

When Jaskier heard the inhale, he looked up and found Geralt’s eyes with his own. He didn’t have to say anything for Geralt to flinch at the hurt and anger he saw there, all of the pain he’d caused. 

“Go. I don’t want you here.” Jaskier’s words were clear and he sounded hollow, like his insides had been scraped clean. Geralt didn’t move right away, and when Jaskier stood up it startled him, the bard stalking towards him, hands fisted tightly. “Go! Fucking leave, Geralt, you’ve made it pretty damn obvious how you feel about me, and I don’t–” Jaskier broke off, his expression fracturing, and stopped walking. “Just. Just go.” 

Geralt nodded and went. Not far, he wasn’t sure he even  _ could  _ leave Jaskier really, but he walked away towards the edge of the clearing, out of Jaskier’s line of sight but still close enough that he’d be able to tell if any of the creatures that lived in the wood had decided Jaskier would make a good supper. 

He sat there, back against a tree, for most of the night, keeping watch over Jaskier and listening to the man cry himself to sleep. It hurt not to be able to gather him in his arms, comfort him like Geralt had gotten used to being able to do, but he wanted to give Jaskier the space he’d asked for. 

Geralt finally disappeared some few hours before morning broke, when Jaskier had finally drifted into a restless sleep and his sadness had ebbed somewhat. 

If he’d had to guess, Geralt would probably have expected Jaskier to throw himself into perilous situations, needing to be high on the fight or flight endorphins and trying to get away from Geralt himself. That’s what he’d assumed that Jaskier had done in their absence, but he knew better now and he wasn’t sure what Jaskier got up to in the years between the dragon hunt and their reconciliation. 

As it was, the next time he became aware of himself was in a cell constructed out of gray cobblestone. He grunted softly, looking around the cell and wondering why he was there. It was only after he noticed a figure chained against one wall that he realized. 

“Jaskier?” Geralt kept his voice low, not sure if anyone was listening, and the figure lifted his head up, eyes searching out Geralt’s face. It was Jaskier, and he groaned, shaking his head. 

“No, no, that’s – you’re not here. Go away, Geralt, I don’t need your help.” 

Geralt didn’t listen to him, instead stepping closer to the bard to inspect the chains holding him to the wall. They were more than sturdy, and Geralt had no doubts that if left to his own devices the bard would be stuck there until his cuffs were unlocked. 

“Jaskier, where are we? Where is this?” 

Jaskier laughed, a quiet broken sound, and shook his head. “Not sure. Nilfgaardian camp, I think, or one of their outposts, since they wouldn’t have had time to build something like this so quickly.” He shrugged. 

Geralt reared back, eyes wide. “You’re here because of Nilfgaard? What do they want you for?” His voice was loud, but Jaskier didn’t seem to mind. He shrugged again. 

“You. They want you. You’re with Cirilia by now, I think – so glad I could help the two of you come together, by the way – and they think I know where you are.” 

Geralt frowned at him, not understanding. “But I only found Ciri – it was at least a year after the dragon, Jaskier. I haven’t seen you since then.” 

Jaskier laughed, and it was a sound without mirth. “Been more than that, actually, more like a year and a half, maybe two.” 

Geralt frowned harder at him. “Jaskier, I appear whenever you’re in trouble, or upset; you can’t have stayed out of trouble for a  _ year _ .” 

Jaskier shook his head, looking down at his feet again. “Did. Couldn’t...couldn’t see you, didn’t want to, so I stayed out of other you’s way, and just...didn’t get in trouble. Didn’t fall into any beds, didn’t go out after dark, stayed away from the war. I thought I was safe, from you, from everything, and then Nilfguard found me.” 

Geralt’s heart clenched tightly at the bard’s admission, the knowledge that Jaskier had put so much effort into not needing him, not wanting him. He reached for the other man but stopped short of actually touching him. “Jaskier. I–” 

Jaskier’s eyes flashed when he finally met Geralt’s again. “Geralt, I was perfectly fine without you. I don’t need your help, I’ll find a way out of this on my own. You can go.” He punctuated the statement with a tug on his chains, but their mooring didn’t budge from the cobblestone. 

Geralt chose not to try to argue with him, instead deciding to sit on the cold floor. He didn’t try to touch Jaskier, just observed him silently. Jaskier kept looking at him and then away, clearly frustrated with Geralt’s not leaving, but it wasn’t like Geralt could even really leave; he was stuck in the same small cell as Jaskier was. 

Eventually Jaskier sighed and leaned back against the wall, giving Geralt a weary look. “I’m not going to tell them anything, you’ve got to know that.” 

Geralt, who hadn’t even been aware that Nilfgaard had ever captured Jaskier, gave him a nod. “I wouldn’t have thought you would have.” 

Jaskier sighed again, shutting his eyes. “I thought I was safe, further north, but I guess they had scouting parties sent up there, looking for you, looking for anyone who had information on you.” 

Geralt sighed as well, leaning his head back against the cold wall behind him. “Yeah, I was aware they were looking for me and Ciri – we’re probably in Kaer Morhen by now. It was one of the only places I could think of to keep her safe.” 

Jaskier didn’t answer him. Geralt huffed before standing once more and walking closer to Jaskier. Jaskier’s eyes narrowed into a glare and his lip curled as the witcher got closer, but Geralt paid him no mind. “Jaskier, I’m stuck here as long as you are, and I don’t care if you don’t want to talk to me, but if you want me gone we’ve got to get you out of these chains, and out of Nilfguard’s clutches.” 

Jaskier growled but didn’t argue, and Geralt made quick work of the shackles around his wrists, tearing through the metal that held him to the wall. Jaskier wrung his hands out, not looking at Geralt, and turned towards the cell door. 

“Fine. Fine, you’ll help me out of here, and then you can just fuck right off back to wherever you come from.” 

Geralt grunted. “No.” 

Jaskier whirled around, face blazing with anger. “No? No? You’re not fucking sticking around here, Geralt, espcially not once I’m safe. You’ll pop off back into the ether and I’ll be on my merry way, off to find somewhere to hide out until the war is over, thank you very much.” 

Geralt stepped closer to him and put his hands on Jaskier’s shoulders, squeezing gently. “No, Jaskier. I’m going to get you out of here, and I’ll probably disappear, that’s right, but then you’re going to Kaer Morhen to find the other me and Ciri. I’ll be able to keep you safe, and out of Nilfguard’s clutches.” 

Jaskier shook his head, trying to shrug off Geralt’s hands but the man held firm. “Geralt, there is no way I’m going to... to throw myself on your mercy, in your  _ home _ , not after you’ve made it more than abundantly clear how you really feel about me.” His voice cracked as he spoke, but Jaskier pushed on, anger fueling him. “I’m taking myself off your hands, Geralt, you should be thrilled.” 

Jaskier was glaring at him, and so he caught Geralt’s wince at the words being thrown back in his face. Geralt looked at him for long moments before replying, measuring his words. “Jaskier….I’m sorry. I’m sorry for every harsh word I ever said to you, I’m sorry for making you feel like I didn’t want you in my life, I’m sorry that I hurt you so many times.” He took a deep breath, steadying himself. “I was wrong, and I knew I was wrong from ten minutes after I said what I said to you on the mountain. But I knew you’d be hurt, that you wouldn’t want to see me, so I didn’t try to find you to apologize, thinking it was safer for you if you weren’t with me. I went to find Ciri, and I did, and I got her to Kaer Morhen, and then.” 

Geralt paused, gathering himself. When he looked up again, Jaskier was watching him intently, face closed off. “As soon as we were able to stop running, when we finally had the time to breathe and not feel Nilfgaard at our backs, I realized exactly how much of a fucking mistake it was, how much I felt your absence. It’s like missing a part of myself, Jaskier.” 

Jaskier looked like he wanted to say something, but Geralt shook his head, not letting him get a word in edgewise. “And Jaskier.” He closed the distance between them, pressing his forehead to Jaskier’s and looking him in the eyes. “When you showed up at Kaer Morhen, saying you needed help and that Nilfgaard was after you because you knew me, I...I was  _ so  _ happy, not that you needed help, but that I would get a chance to apologize, to make amends. I was so glad to have you back in my life.” 

Geralt fell silent, just breathing and watching Jaskier’s expression. The bard was trying to conceal the maelstrom of emotions whirling through him, but Geralt had learned to read him well. Jaskier was terrified that Geralt might be lying, he was cautiously hopeful that he might be telling the truth, he was excited that he might get to meet Ciri, and he had no idea how to process the fact that Geralt was telling him this, actually expressing his feelings with words as opposed to grunting. 

After a minute of staring at each other, Jaskier finally pulled away from Geralt, and Geralt gasped, unsure what he was trying to say. Jaskier turned towards the cell door and kicked it, testing the latch. When he finally looked back at Geralt, Jaskier raised an eyebrow at him in question. “Do you think you’d be able to kick this down, then, or are we going to have to wait for the guards to come find you in here with me?” 

Geralt sighed with relief at all the things Jaskier wasn’t saying, and stepped forward to inspect the door. He ran his hands over the lock, testing the metal. “I should be able to kick it. Do you know how to get to Kaer Morhen?” 

Jaskier nodded. “Yeah. It’s north, until you can’t go any more north and have to start climbing mountains.” He shot Geralt a small smile, shaky but genuine, and Geralt returned it. “I’ve read maps, Geralt, and if I get lost you’ll be able to pop in and save my ass like always.” 

Geralt was grinning harder now, and he wrapped an arm around Jaskier’s shoulders, squeezing him tightly. “Thank you, Jaskier.” 

Jaskier scoffed and brushed him off, gesturing towards the door. “Yes, yes, you can thank me all you want to later on, but come on, let's get out of here first.” 

Geralt gave him a grin and then kicked the door, using enough force that it popped off its hinges and flew into the opposite wall, letting them walk out easily. The guards were only expecting to deal with a stringy bard, not an enraged witcher, and he dispatched with them easily, signaling to Jaskier when it was safe to leave. The camp didn’t seem large, but so far they’d managed not to raise any alarms, and they made it out without notice. 

When they got to the woods outside the camp, Geralt looked around, vaguely recognizing the area. He turned to Jaskier. “We’re only a week or so from Kehr Morhen by foot; you should make it there before it snows.” He gripped Jaskier’s hands tightly. “I’ll be there for you, alright? I know the last thing I said to you was...but the me that’s there, he’ll be glad to see you, glad that you’re alright.” 

Jaskier flashed him a grin, already looking a little more like himself. “Yes, well, you witchers can’t be Ciri’s only human company; you’ll have her grunting and slurping soup like animals by the end of the winter and we can’t have that, can we?” 

Geralt surprised them both when he drew Jaskier into a sharp hug, holding him tightly and inhaling against his neck. “I can’t thank you enough, Jaskier. I’m - I’m sorry for all the hurt I’ve caused you, and I hope that you’ll be able to forgive me for it some day.” 

Jaskier hugged back even as he inhaled in surprise. “Why does this feel like a goodbye, Geralt? You said it yourself, I’ll see you soon.” 

Geralt pulled back and offered a weak grin. “Not goodbye, I’m just….just thinking it might be a while before I see you again, if you’re wintering at Kaer Morhen and not getting yourself into trouble.” 

Jaskier nodded at him and hugged him again quickly before turning towards the forest. “Well, I should get going, got to get there soon.” By the time he turned around, Geralt was gone again, and Jaskier set off towards Kaer Morhen without a backwards glance. 

He spent the winter teaching Ciri music and helping to cook for the wolves, with him and Geralt dancing around each other as much as they ever had, both unable to vocalize what they weren’t saying. Yennefer appeared one day, saying she’d be able to teach Ciri to help control her magic, and then it was like she’d always been there, helping take care of the girl. 

Jaskier and Yennefer surprised everyone by getting along like a house on fire, once they were done sniffing each other out, and he found that he enjoyed her company even when they were throwing insults at each other. The group managed to settle into some kind of routine, even, and Jaskier was happier than he had ever been, surrounded by his friends, even if he did feel the odd twinge of longing for  _ his _ Geralt, who hadn’t had to pop up since he saved Jaskier from Nilfgaard. 

When spring came, they stayed at Kaer Morhen, since it was the safest place they could be and Ciri needed to be trained. But when word came from one of the surrounding mountain towns that they had a monster terrorizing the citizens, Jaskier found Geralt in the stables as he saddled up to leave. 

“So, you’re going, then?” At Jaskier’s question Geralt just grunted, not looking at him. Jaskier wasn’t sure where they stood, after everything, and he wasn’t sure how Geralt would feel about him asking to come along for the hunt. He loved being in the keep, and helping with Ciri, but Jaskier wasn’t used to staying in one place for so long and he’d gotten that itch under his skin that meant he needed to  _ move, _ to be somewhere else for a while. He rather thought that Geralt had the same urge, which is why he’d jumped at the chance to get out for a bit and kill some monsters. 

When Geralt finished with Roach, he turned back to Jaskier and frowned at him, eyes sweeping down to look at Jaskier’s outfit before finding his eyes again. “You’re planning to walk there in that?” 

The quiet words were enough to have Jaskier grinning, and he threw his arms around his witcher, cackling with laughter. “I was not, no, give me ten minutes to pack and I’ll be right back!” 

Jaskier let go of Geralt and ran for the stairs to his room. “We’ll be gone a week and it’s still cold at night, pack warm!” Geralt’s words followed him as he went, and Jaskier threw his belongings haphazardly as he packed, not paying attention to his clothing and instead focused on getting back downstairs before Geralt decided to leave without him. 

When he returned to the stables, Geralt hadn’t left, and Jaskier handed him his bag to fasten to Roach, which the witcher did wordlessly. Geralt mounted and turned Roach towards the entrance to the keep and Jaskier followed easily, excited to be at Geralt’s side once more. 

The town itself was a rather small, cozy affair, and when they arrived they spent a night at the inn, with Geralt asking around about the monster and Jaskier playing for the small gathered group, enjoying a chance to test out the songs he’d written over the winter. By the time he was done, Geralt had gathered more information on the monster that they’d asked for his help with, and he filled Jaskier in over ale. 

“Some kind of older being, something that got caught and pulled here during the conjunction of the spheres.” Geralt’s voice was low, and Jaskier hummed, waiting for more. “I’ve seen the like before, although I haven’t had to kill one. This creature has been messing with people’s heads in ways I  _ haven’t _ seen before – it seems to have some rather strong connection to chaos, maybe some powers to mess with time and space, and it’s been causing general mayhem.” Geralt drew silent, looking into his drink for long moments. “Jaskier, you should stay behind.” 

Jaskier laughed at that, clapping Geralt on the shoulder. “Geralt, if you wanted me to stay behind, you should have left me at Kaer Morhen. You know as well as I do that I’m going to follow you even if you tell me not to, and it would be a waste of energy to try to keep me from doing so.” 

Geralt frowned at him, not arguing the point. “I didn’t think it would be something as dangerous as this seems to be, Jaskier, I just don’t want you getting hurt.” 

Jaskier scoffed. “Oh please, I haven’t been hurt yet, not  _ really _ .” He smiled to himself, and Geralt almost didn’t hear his next mumbled words. “Besides, I’ve got a guardian angel.” 

Geralt ignored him, instead rolling his eyes and standing from the table. “Well, regardless, I’m planning to see if I can find it tomorrow. I’m leaving at dawn.” 

Jaskier gave him a nod and polished off the rest of his ale. “Well, considering that we’re sharing a room, it won’t be too hard for you to wake me up, then.” 

Geralt huffed and left him, stalking up the stairs towards their shared room, and Jaskier settled up their tab before following. 

The next morning dawned bright and cold, and Jaskier felt his teeth chattering as he followed Roach through the town, towards the furthest edge of the small group of houses. The monster had been seen there most often, and Geralt hoped to catch it by surprise. 

Waiting was always the most boring part, Jaskier knew, and when Geralt gestured that he sit against a still-unmelted snowbank, indicating they were going to wait for it to appear, he groaned loudly, mostly for the joy of seeing Geralt’s jaw clench at him. He settled down easily enough, patting the snow down into a comfortable chair shape and humming to himself while Geralt scouted the area, making sure the monster wasn’t lurking anywhere nearby. 

The sound of Geralt’s grunting and his silver sword meeting flesh woke Jaskier from a doze and he jumped up, looking around wildly for Geralt and whatever he was fighting. He didn’t see Geralt immediately, and he ran blindly towards the sounds of fighting, not wanting to miss the action (and worried about Geralt). 

When he finally came into view of the pair, he skidded to a stop, eyes wide. The monster was huge, maybe three times as tall as Geralt was, and it seemed to be holding its own against the witcher easily. Despite how hard he looked at it, Jaskier couldn’t quite make out what it looked like, only getting a sort of idea of where it was by being able to see where it wasn’t. Geralt was panting, sword held high, and he looked to Jaskier in alarm. 

“Jaskier, don’t get closer! Let me handle this.” 

Jaskier scoffed and rushed closer, circling around so he was to the side of the two of them, just far enough away that the creature wouldn’t be able to hit him. He assessed the situation, watching Geralt fight the monster in awe as the witcher slashed and hacked, taking chunks out of the thing easily. It didn’t seem to bother it much, though, and Jaskier hissed when the thing got in some hits of its own. 

He was so focused on Geralt and the thing he was fighting that he stopped paying attention to how close he was, and when the monster turned, seeing him there, it refocused on him instead, lunging at him with a speed he hadn’t anticipated.

“Jaskier!” Geralt’s voice was worried, and that was never a good sign, but Jaskier was too focused on getting himself away from the thing to pay any attention to what Geralt was doing. The thing advanced on him, raising its arms (at least, Jaskier  _ thought  _ they were arms, although he wasn’t really sure) at him, and Jaskier was backing away in a hurry when something slammed into him from the side. He huffed as all the wind was knocked out of him, Geralt’s body pinning him to the ground. 

Geralt stood, blocking the thing from getting to Jaskier, and Jaskier heard the monster screech as Geralt got in a good hit. He rolled over and stood, keeping behind Geralt, to watch him finish it off. Just as Geralt was going for the final blow and bringing his sword down in a sweep that would cut it’s head clean off, the thing lunged again and scratched it’s claws down Geralt’s arm in a pattern that Jaskier was  _ very _ familiar with. 

Geralt didn’t halt his momentum, however, and he managed to behead the monster, it’s body collapsing as it was severed. Geralt dropped his silver sword, his arm raising so he could frown down at the gashes in his arm. Jaskier grabbed him, hauling the arm up so he could look at the injury, where it seemed the creature’s claws had some kind of poison on them. 

Geralt met Jaskier’s eyes. “Jaskier, are you–” 

Jaskier shook his head, tugging at Geralt’s armor so he could get a better look at his arm. “I’m fine, it didn’t get me. Geralt, fuck, I need to – this is–” 

Geralt made a soft noise of surprise, and when Jaskier looked up to his face once more, Geralt was swaying on his feet. Jaskier felt more panicked at the effect the poison seemed to have on the witcher. “Geralt! Don’t – you better not fucking pass out, I swear to all the gods–” 

Geralt, of course, didn’t pass out. No, he looked from Jaskier and then back to his injured arm, and then seemed to flicker, going translucent before Jaskier’s eyes. It only took a second and then he was gone altogether, leaving Jaskier standing there, hands bloody and empty. 

Jaskier could do nothing but gape at the spot where Geralt had stood not a minute ago. “G-Geralt?” He got no answer. 

He stayed there a while longer, hoping that Geralt would pop back into existence the same way he’d popped out of it, but no witcher appeared before him. When the sun started going down, he was forced to go back to their room at the inn and he locked himself in, curling on his side on the bed and praying that he hadn’t lost Geralt forever. 

Jaskier wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that, staring at the floor, but when he heard someone shift their weight and clear their throat at the foot of the bed, he looked up with red-rimmed eyes to find  _ his _ Geralt standing there, looking sheepish and with the wound on his arm fully healed. 

The sound Jaskier made was inhuman and he was on his feet in a second, wrapping Geralt in a tight hug and not letting go. He was vaguely aware that he was sobbing on his witcher’s shoulder, but he couldn’t bring himself to care and he held tightly. Geralt seemed no less inclined to let him go as well, and the witcher's arms around him were the only thing mooring Jaskier, keeping him sane. Eventually the two of them managed to sit on the bed, but Jaskier kept his arms tightly around Geralt’s middle and his face in the other man’s neck. 

Geralt was the first to speak. “How… how long, was it? For you?” 

Jaskier’s answer was tear-slurred into his neck and he could barely make it out. “T-This morning. How long was it–?” 

Geralt was already shaking his head. “Longer. It was longer for me.” 

Jaskier knew it had been – he’d spent countless nights with Geralt wrapped around him, hands soothing down his back and through his hair, as they were now. He nodded and sobbed again, embarrassed but also not, since Geralt had seen him in much worse states over much less important things. 

“Do–” Jaskier couldn’t get the question out, and he had to stop and take a deep breath before the words would come. “Do I get to keep you, this time?” 

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer, and Geralt smoothed his hands over Jaskier’s hair, rocking him gently. “I don’t know. I think so, probably, since I’ve caught up with where I was, but I’m not sure.” 

Jaskier sniffed and nodded. “Well that’s. I guess we’ll have to see if you’re still here in the morning, then?” 

Geralt nodded and hummed at him. “Yes, that’s probably the only way we’ll be able to tell. Yenn might be able to double check when we get back, see what happened.” His hands were still tightly gripping Jaskier to him, and he didn’t seem inclined to letting go anytime soon. Jaskier gathered himself, pushing back from the witcher slightly and putting a few inches of space between their bodies. When he met Geralt’s eyes, the other man looked confused, and Jaskier offered him a watery smile. 

“This probably isn’t the time, but if you’re going to disappear and leave me alone again then I’m taking the chance before I lose it.” Geralt didn’t have time to wonder what he meant before Jaskier was kissing him, just a gentle brush of lips against his own. Jaskier was still crying and they were both rather stiff from sitting like that for so long, but Geralt groaned before pressing against him, kissing Jaskier with everything in his heart. 

“Fuck, Jaskier, I–” He kissed Jaskier again instead of answering, and then pressed him down so Jaskier lay on the bed with Geralt towering over him. 

The next morning, when Jaskier woke tangled in Geralt’s limbs, he cried again, his face pressed against the witcher’s bare chest, and Geralt held him as long as he needed. 

**Author's Note:**

> I love how I said at the beginning that Julian knew better than to cry and then he spends the rest of the fic crying on Geralt pretty much nonstop lol. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are like crack and I am addicted, lol. All are welcome and cherished!


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